


*alleyway dealer voice* Can I Interest You In Some Questionable Content?

by worddumb



Series: *clears throat* Hey Kid, Heard You Like Questionable Content? [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (shrugs but in a stupid way), Gen, I swear I'll fix it, I'm Going to Hell, aka forcing someone to do something they're entirely not up to, and noticed there's minor character death of nameles bandits, based on online personas, boy this work is getting better and better with every step i take, by just saying their full real name and what you want them to do, enjooooy~, hi again it got worse!, i Should've posted this on anon but nooo, i checked it first thing in the morning(i'm vain), i don't even know what to tag, it'll get better?..., oh yeah the target is techno and the prepatrators are wil and phil byeeeee, okay most of the problem is in the description but i'll add one thing, there's body puppetiering with the help of an artifact, there's unintentional-intentional non-con now :), which is... problematic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worddumb/pseuds/worddumb
Summary: me, walking to the kitchen to get some gräpes: It's not serious at all, it's just about Wilbur getting isekai'd into a medieval fantasy setting and *tries to come up with a better way of saying it* *fails* *dies inside* SlaVe owNerSHiP- *leans onto counter from self-inflicted psychic damage**pops in through a time loop* oh btw found chapter five B) *poofs*
Series: *clears throat* Hey Kid, Heard You Like Questionable Content? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116176
Comments: 50
Kudos: 75





	1. In Which Mistakes Are Made. By Everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, Please, and, I can't stress this enough, Please don't kill me. I mean you have the right to do so at least twice, cause a) this is an... idea and b) I didn't even beta-read this  
> Of other relevant notes, this will have about 4 chapters, all with various levels of 'bad' in them, aaand I Promise I will finish it if only to own up to my mistakes

Techno is being spied on. 

Now, normally it wouldn’t be a problem, as only a select few could fly under his radar and those few have no business personally dealing with a lowly quarter-pig-demon potato farmer. This time? He’s turning over rocks, and still, not a sign of another entity other than alien scents dragging all around his house and fields. 

If the stalker(s?) don’t get him, the paranoia sure will. 

And it almost is, since in the two days the feeling of being watched was present, Techno didn’t let himself sleep or stay in one place for too long even once. Now, that might’ve been suspicious behavior from anyone else, but he was long known as an obsessive weirdo by the locals, so justifying his erratic darting around the village is easy enough. 

So are his allnighters, which have, once again, almost made him regret living in such a gods forgotten place. Still, he found things to do and ways to keep himself awake, even recalling some potion recipe that seemed to work wonders for a few hours, before crashing so hard he almost collapsed when buying ingredients for more. Ironic. 

On his third night, which happens to be a full moon, Techno decides to venture into the forest to collect rare mushrooms that made for exceptional potato compost and also happened to sell for a whole lot of money. In hindsight, it was not one of his brighter ideas. 

Far from the village and feeling like a corpse, he’s almost surprised he can still sense eyes on his back and be confident it isn’t superstition. He even catches the rustle of leaves once or twice. 

He’s so screwed. His only strategy, by now, is putting on a tough act and praying to the gods he doesn’t care for until he can get back and ask for help, which he should’ve done in the first place. The stupidity of his former actions catches up to him a tad too late, in his opinion. 

He straightens up, faintly glowing mushrooms in hand. His mouth and snout get covered by a hand with a handkerchief before he registers soft rustling of fabric behind his back. Knowing not to inhale, Techno managed a few seconds of earnest struggling that come  _ this close _ to breaking him free- a silhouette of another person appears in front of his eyes and right-hooks him into a coma. 

**. . . . . . . .**

Techno wakes up with a sharp jolt of magic coursing through his entire nervous system, making his headache somehow worse than it was when he went to the forest. At night. Alone. Whilst being followed. 

He opens his eyes so fast the darkness of a roofed forest looks blinding. His attempt to sit up, likewise, fails. 

There’s cloth against his lashes. Small lines of faint blue shroom light where it doesn’t connect to skin are all he can see of the outside world. There’s a hand going over his torso in a soothing motion, a voice he can barely hear behind his heartbeat following suit: “Shhhh, it’s okay, we mean you no harm! Right, Phil?” 

The voice gets a reply, just as cheery but nowhere near as soothing as it is: “Yeah, sure”. Techno knows the replier’s voice, but he can’t connect it to anyone. 

“Does the thing work?”,- the first voice asks Phil. “There’s only one way to find out. Technoblade-”- they know his full name- “-go to sleep”. 

**. . . . . . . .**

Techno wakes up and doesn’t open his eyes. 

He’s laying on something soft, and he can’t feel any restraints but a wide choker around his neck. Made of leather, it barely classifies as one, though he’s sure it’s the source of the sharp, electrical pain he remembers feeling. Now, laying on a soft mattress, neither that nor the fist to the stomach he can vividly envision feel like they’ve actually happened. 

Whoever got him must’ve used some sort of a recovery potion. He should watch out for mind games if that’s the case. 

Hands touch his ears. He works not to tense but fails spectacularly when noises start flooding in, overwhelming him immediately and making him question his observation skills. Now, he knows that whoever’s got him has magic beyond artifacts. His situation, if possible, feels bleaker than it did just a second ago. 

“Hey, you were right, he  _ is  _ awake!” The person’s voice is too loud and bright for it being so early in the morning. Techno can’t help cringing a bit at the impact. 

“Yeah, I know this guy pretty well”. 

**That** does not inspire hope. 

Digging through memory is a bit hard first thing in the morning, more so when someone’s poking his cheeks and talking (‘why’s he not opening his eyes? it’s okay, dude, you don’t have the blindfold anymore’), but Techno manages. The one who claims to know him is Philza, a man he was paired with once in an underground tournament. 

Once. 

If he plays dumb, there’s a chance they’ll leave him alone. After all, how many quarter-pig-demons with exactly his inherited features can there be? 

Techno opens his eyes, slowly, carefully. The mid-day sun filtering through the canopy burns his eyes. He doesn’t have to play up his terror all that much, especially when he focuses on an upside-down face studying him, head cocked to the side, and worrying both lips. Even from where Techno lay, he can see they’re freakishly tall, not speaking of their unearthly feel. Their massive hands are still on his cheeks. 

“Who are you? Where am I? What did I do? Please don’t hurt me I’m just a humble potato farmer-” 

Words jumble out of his mouth in a messy knot as he presses into the mattress, away from the hands. The person above him looks cartoonishly concerned, brows knotted and mouth downturned almost in confusion, while Phil moves closer until he’s in Techno’s field of view, standing next to the tall person. 

“I’m Philza, from Mine and Craft Monday. I’m pretty sure you remember me, we made a great team, the organizers actually had to separate us”. 

“Minecraft?-”- the tall person intersects before Techno can deny or Phil can introduce them- “-Wow, this world is getting weirder and weirder with every turn. First, everyone’s a shorty, then, there’s Minecraft- are you sure this isn’t just a fanfic AU, at this point?” 

Techno opens his mouth to speak before- “-Also, you definitely knew Phil, cause he knows your name is Technoblade!” 

A strong, dreadful wave of magic washes over him. Along with it comes a bubbling, nauseating knot in his stomach, making him lightheaded and draining the last bits of hope out. It’s a control spell, one he recognizes from his short time in a freak-show circus, except this time it’s stronger and he doesn’t have a dozen like-minded individuals to aid his escape. This one binds to his name, to him personally- he doesn’t get much time to ponder. Phil elbows the head of the tall person, and they say, hurried, as their curly hair falls into their eyes: “Oh right, order dismissed”. 

The energy of the chocker-bound spell leaving his body feels too much like relief, almost forcing his muscles to go lax. There are still gigantic hands on his cheeks, which at this point feel simply forgotten by their owner.

Considering there’s no way he’s lying his way out of this, Techno gives up all pretenses in favor of being done: “How did you even Find me?” 

Phil crouches down next to the tall person, underlining just how massive they are, and pats their shoulder: “It was all this guy, actually. I don’t know how, but he’s got a whole-ass internal compass pointing to stuff”-“It’s how I’ve found Phil, too”-“It was kinda freaky, how well he managed to describe you when we first met”. 

“Whatever reason you need me for, it won’t work. I’ve done nothing but farm potatoes in the last three years, I have no skill, leave me alone”. 

“Yeah about that-”- the tall person remembers their hands, finally- “-we don’t really know what we need you for? Just that I, personally, need the two of you, for whatever reason to aid me on my god-appointed quest? It’s all vague, I dunno what I’m doing, Phil doesn’t know what we’re doing, and there’s absolutely no one we can ask, cause the god dipped after dropping me off or whatever”. 

The number of unknown words the tall guy is using makes Techno’s head spin. They don’t even sound like they’re in Common, which doesn’t help the guy’s already confusing shpeal at all. Techno can’t help bringing both his hands to his face, digging his fingers in a little: “Not only do I get abducted, but I get abducted by lunatics”. 

He’s not directing the words at his captors, rather attempting to amuse himself, but Phil still responds: “That’s also mostly Wilbur, honestly. I’m just tagging along cause I had nothing better to do, and this guy seemed like a lot of fun”. 

Surprisingly, or maybe predictably considering how aloof this Wilbur guy is, he doesn’t try to defend his honor, opting to lightly shove Phil’s shoulder. Taking his size into account, it still makes the elf sway quite a bit, having to steady against the offending hand, but the action seems comfortable enough for both of them, almost like a familiar ritual. So, these guys are likely to be well coordinated. The hope Techno has for someone like Deo or Squid coming in to save him and succeeding simmers. 

“Anyways-”- Wilbur extends one of his fuck-off hands, specifically the one that doesn’t have Phil still hanging off it, over Techno’s chest, hanging above it expectantly- “-I’m Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. Pleasure to meet you!” 

Techno studies the hand. It’s a bit calloused, with some small scars here and there, some of which seem to be from touching fire-berries without proper precautions. What it could possibly want from him, he has no idea. 

Noticing his indifference, Phil explains, tugging on the hand he claimed for himself for emphasis: “This is a thing Wil does, hand-shake I think? It’s like-”- he reaches for the other hand, Wilbur orientating even before the gesture became apparent and reaching back- “-this”. 

They proceed to lock hands, Phil’s comically small in comparison, and shake them. Self-descriptive enough. 

“Looks awkward”. 

At his words, Wilbur, who seemed content focusing on the hand-shake just a second ago, perks up: “Yeah well, it’s normally done with the same hands? Like, right-hand-right-hand, left-hand-left-hand. We kinda had to improvise, cause Phil’s a clingy monkey”. 

In response to the accusation, Phil shoves him with a bit more vigor than necessary: “Look in the mirror before judging someone else’s reflection, you boof”. 

They break out in mock fight Techno would have to bend his neck to follow, so naturally, he doesn’t. Laying on the mattress with hands over his stomach, he bangs his head on the pillow with as little effort as he could afford, eyes firmly shut. This, he realizes, is what he’ll have to deal with for at least a day, likely a lot more because Phil is not an idiot, with the additional complication of having to follow these idiots orders. 

He’ll make this time as miserable for his captors as he can, he resolves. Meanwhile, though? All he does is focus on showing up Squid with the condition of inevitably having to play catch up, trying his best to ignore the bickering and light thumps behind him. 


	2. In which everyone still makes mistakes, but Especially Wilbur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't do drinks kids!  
> Chapter relevant tws: alcohol abuse, unintentionally sexual abuse (unintentionally cause it wasn't intended as anything sexual, which changes close to nothing), graphic descriptions of violence, disrespect for Literally Everything and incorrect cutting of tomatoes (not graphic)  
> Oh, also the third reason to kill worddumb, I really enjoy writing this thing and it got Bad in this chapter :)

Techno has been in captivity for six. Days. 

Well, technically it’s five and today is his sixths, but it feels like so much longer it might as well be. So far, it’s almost bearable compared to the four days he spent with the circus, which is not saying much. After all, he could bear being stuck in one position for up to twelve hours, which in no way meant he ever wanted to.

He’s been assigned cooking duty since most people tend to enjoy having a diet more diverse than vaguely seasoned meat and maybe some vegetables, which he mainly minds because he doesn’t want to cook for someone willing to use a slave choker, no matter the reasoning. They still tell him to, of course; they’d be fools not to use their power over him in some way. 

Of course, he’d much rather they be fools, but whatever. 

Beyond that and telling him to not, under any circumstance, get further than twenty blocks away from them after he tried to sneak away on his first night (‘okay but, if you stand forty blocks from each other, do i have to keep the maximum twenty from both of you or do i get to roam around both?’ ‘i dunno. wanna check?’ ‘no’) or hurt either of them as a precaution, he thankfully doesn’t get bossed around much. When he does, it’s mainly Wilbur, who also happens to be on the burnt end of his tauntings and sarcasm most of the time. 

Phil somehow manages to have semi-fulfilling conversations with him even through all the venom, though Techno doesn’t appreciate it much. He doesn’t appreciate all the apologetic glances and aid in roasting Wilbur Phil throws him when the aforementioned oversized in every way and surprisingly mature baby prods, pets, hugs, and otherwise bothers him like he’s some kind of an exotic animal. 

He may appreciate them a bit more than conversations, but only to get on Wilbur’s nerves. Which neither of them ever manage to do in any meaningful way. 

Sometimes, the reminders of what happened back at the circus feel almost like a taunting of an easier time, when bad guys were bad and pain was pain, but even with how much he detests Wilbur’s most annoying actions, they tend to always be just that. Annoying. 

If Wilbur ever actually tries to touch him in a way Techno fears he might, he will rip the collar off with his bare hands and proceed to kill Wil or die trying. Phil, who is decisively not a fool nor is stupid, had noticed his fear and assured him that would never happen, and if it did, he wouldn’t be the only one in line for murder. His assurance, infuriatingly, works. 

One good thing about the damned collar, Techno reflects, is how he doesn’t need to pay any attention to what he’s doing beyond looking at it. The carrots he’s been ordered to chop are almost done with, all the while he can focus on contemplating the situation. 

A good thing about being the head cook is also easy to find since he can order Wilbur to be gone (go get water from a river down a steep hill) and have him comply. Looking at the positives like this, he ponders, puts him in danger of developing Stockholm syndrome. 

Ah, he’s probably past that threshold. One hand still busy with carrots, Techno gently introduces his knuckles to his forehead. 

Phill looks up from his own assigned vegetable: “You okay man?” 

“Yeah, of course, it’s not like my hands are doing something completely independently of my thoughts or anything”. 

Phil looks back down. “Technoblade-”- his hands keep chopping, but his mind freezes- “-order dismissed”. 

He stops. The carrots are almost done, only one too large butt remaining, so it’s not like it changes anything. He looks at Phil, hands limp against the chopping board: “Oh wow”. 

“Sorry”. 

“It’s whatever”. 

Dismissing the apology seems to make Phil feel worse. Techno hates making people feel bad like this, though in this situation, it only makes him more annoyed. Maybe even angry, at this point. Either way, he continues to ignore the carrots, opting to get up and settle next to Phil instead. The way he’s been handling his tomatoes was getting on Techno’s nerves, so, warning the elf with a few moments of hovering above the cutting board, he reaches for the knife’s handle. Phil shifts his hold to make the blade more accessible but doesn’t let go completely. A smart precaution, if completely useless considering the situation. 

The small discomfort of direct contact has no way of standing up to Techno’s perfectionism, so he doesn’t hesitate to fix both Phil’s hold of the knife, the angle, and the poor, squashed tomato’s position. Explaining the changes in a low voice with just a hint of condescending (‘ you wanna  _ cut _ the tomatoes, not make tomato slosh’), he coaches Phil to where he can watch the elf work without cringing and removes himself back to his carrots as soon as he’s done. 

He’ll admit to crossing his arms defensively after the fact, but Phil is too focused on not messing up and Wil is gone, so no one is there to testify. His huffiness shall bear no witnesses, and if it will, he will remove them as he would eyes from potatoes. 

A distinctly Wilbur indignant ‘hey!’ reaches his ears. Considering the man’s affinity for talking to objects and flora, neither Techno nor Phil pay it any mind beyond turning their heads towards the noise for a split second. 

Then, Wilbur manifests with a bucket in hand and a wild look in his eyes. Techno jumps so hard he’s now at least a block further away from him: “You can teleport?!” 

At the same time as his reasonable question, Wilbur whips around to where he left to, points and yells out ‘There are Bandits!’, which, if you ask him, is a lot less reasonable behavior. 

Techno tries to get back up, noting Phil at about the same level of shock: “Well first of all, you didn’t answer my question. Second of all, you didn’t have to yell, they’ll find us easier now, genius”. 

“Oh, sorry”,- Wilbur lowers his voice considerably. He still doesn’t answer Techno’s question. 

Cutting in to keep Techno sane, Phil does instead: “He can’t, technically, but he can kinda… lose his body? I don’t really know how to explain, and neither does he. Either way, would you be up to help me if they still try to attack us?” 

“It’s not like he’s got a choice, they’ll probably kill him otherwise”. 

Both Techno and Phil stare at Wilbur for a few seconds. 

“Sorry, sorry”. 

Technoblade sees a brilliant opportunity. While Phil gets up, knife in hand, and looks in the direction supposed bandits should come from, he relocates back to his cutting board, takes the knife, and gets back to chopping with the most neutral expression he can manage. The conflicted, done, yet vaguely respectful look Wilbur sends him before going to get his potions is worth a thousand bandits abusing his disadvantageous position. 

As the first bandit peaks through the trees, both Phil and Wilbur are in full combat readiness. So is Techno, as much as can be sitting down and preoccupied at least. The bandit doesn’t try to bargain, opting to charge immediately. 

They get a potion to the face and a knife to the chest, the combination executed so swiftly it has no doubt been used before or at least practiced. Interestingly enough, Wilbur doesn’t look at all disgruntled by a death he helped facilitate. If not for the beginnings of Stockholm syndrome rooting in Techno’s mind, he’d be concerned, but as such, only raises an eyebrow. 

While he’s reflecting, Phil cuts the throat of some other guy, using his remarkably tiny size in full, and Wil lands two more potion throws with alarming precision. Two more guys bunch up on Phil, taking Wilbur’s attention as well, while the third and final charges Techno. 

They don’t quite run into the knife Techno raises a bit prematurely, and a tad too slow, but it’s a close enough call where Techno doesn’t even have to stand up to gut them like a fish. As they fall on him, they almost injure him with their dagger, but he manages to catch it in time and finish them off via a stab to the throat. Their blood hits the potatoes he has started cutting. He’ll have to ask Wilbur to bring more water. 

Think of the devil, Wil is the first one to talk: “Wow, both of you are ridiculously good at killing people and somehow I’m not concerned”. 

Unable to resist the temptation, Techno glints his bloodied knife at him: “Probably because me killing you would require ridiculous amounts of idiocy on your part, and Phil is your friend”. 

“Yeah? And who’s to say I’m not an idiot?” 

Maintaining eye contact, Techno stabs the knife into his cutting board: “Survival instinct”. He’s rewarded with a light flinch from Wilbur. Phil considers both of them, before carefully setting his knife down. 

Overall, the fight was uneventful, Phil and Wilbur somehow managing to rope Techno into searching the bodies and disposing of them without an explicit order. Maybe it’s the stress of being in a real fight for the first time in forever, maybe it’s a bit of guilt over not helping much; either way, he ends up revolutionizing the disposal process by letting the body he’s been entrusted with roll down the rocky hill by itself. 

His method is wordlessly approved of, Phil and Wil exchanging a glance before setting down their burthens and kicking them a bit to facilitate rolling. It’s the pinnacle of disrespect for the dead, but all three of them are nothing if not disrespectful for some arbitrary rules. Especially, Techno thinks with some frenzied bitterness, not Wilbur and Phil. 

**. . . . . . . .**

Techno is the only one not to get drunk that evening. The duo of the most disrespectful people in the habitable universe is trashed, leaning on each other for support, Wil’s weird stringed instrument laying forgotten next to them. He seems to be forgotten by them as well, sitting as quietly as he can on the opposite side of the campfire and enjoying the smell of red vine and good food carrying over. It’s not ideal, but it’s an arrangement he’s happy with. 

Like all good things, though, it’s not one that lasts. Wilbur, who has buried his nose in Phil’s hair, hand thrown over Phil’s shoulder in a carelessly possessive manner, looks up over the flames, and locks eyes with him without ripping away from Phil. The dulled intensity of the giant’s stare is alarming if typical of drunk people and Techno is sure some of his apprehension leaks through his attempted indifference. 

“Hey, Techno-”- his voice is quieter, more dragged out than usual, lacking the smile that rarely ever leaves it- “-get over here”. 

“No”. 

“Awwww, come on-”- the smile is back, and Techno wishes it wasn’t- “-don’t make me… Ugh, make you? I dunno. Either way, get over here!” He’s excited all over again, gaining loudness and tactlessness pretty much emblematic of drunk people as a whole and him in particular. 

“No”,- Techno is a little bit less sure, saying it that time, and both Wilbur and Phil take it as him wanting to join their little cuddle session. While he can understand Wil’s misreading of him, he can’t for the love of gods, understand Phil’s. He hates alcohol. 

Wil giggles, extending a hand not busy squashing content if quiet Phil into his side in a grabby motion: “Technoblade-”- a horrifying wash of magic stifles all panicked thought- “-sit in my lap”. 

It’s so much worse than he could’ve expected. Even Phil stirs a bit, looking up at Wilbur with quizzical concern; still, he does nothing to stop Techno involuntarily, as slowly and with as much of a radius as he possibly can with minimal pain, getting up and walking over. Because he’s too hazy, Techno tells himself before realizing he’s trying to come up with an excuse for someone who actively contributes to him being in this situation. Wilbur urges him with a finger. The collar almost yanks him forward. 

No matter how much he tries to delay it, he’s one lute-like instrument away from Wilbur. He gauges as much time as he can before stepping over it, small shocks of magic running all over his body and the collar burning his neck. On the other side of the instrument, he stands for a second longer, managing to take a step to the side and turn around before, ultimately, getting pulled down by his own body. 

The pain settles when he hits flesh, so he can’t help relaxing into the hand pulling him closer to Wilbur’s torso. His relaxation doesn’t last long. 

He clutches the hand around his waist in a feeble attempt to prevent it from doing anything, reaching for the collar but being  _ just  _ unable to touch because of some magic. Even through the new wave of light shock waves running through his body, he keeps trying. Phil is clearly concerned now, he can tell just from the rustling on his side, bit Wilbur remains as clueless as ever. 

Or, maybe, cruel. There’s no way Techno can know. 

“Wow, man, you’re like a feather”,- Wilbur sets his chin on his head, trapping him further, his voice laced with something akin to bone-chilling concern- “Are you eating alright?”,- nothing in the world, Techno reflects somewhat dully, is as terrifying as a maniac that genuinely cares. Oblivious to his rumination, Wilbur carries on, the triggering words nothing but a passing remark to him: “Anyways, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” 

“It was”. 

Techno’s voice is cold and level. Techno’s eyes feel watery and dimmed. To his side, still mute Phil starts taking Wilbur’s hand off himself. 

“Oh”. 

The singular word sounds like the word of someone struck by all the bad decisions they’ve made in their life and were entirely blind to until it all came crashing down. Wilbur removes his hand from around Techno’s waist. 

Techno waists no time fumbling off and settling as far from Wil as possible with one continuous move. He shoves the not-lute away accidentally, stressing himself even more with displacing the instrument. 

Having gotten up somewhere along the line, Phil comes over and settles between him and Wilbur. This gesture, unlike many more, Techno can’t help but appreciate in full. His savior doesn’t try to cuddle up to Wilbur again. A tense, heavy cloud of feelings hangs over the three of them, thick with smoke and left-over magic from Techno’s struggling. 

The patch of grass Techno is staring at might as well catch fire. 

“Forgive me Nikkie, for I have sinned”,- quiet words cut through the silence uncomfortably. Techno doesn’t look up from his grass, determined to ignore the end of the world if the need arises. Regardless of his determination, a hushed conversation starts, one-sided as Phil seems to be a quiet drunk. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it. But I did, didn’t I?” 

“Who’s Nikkie?”,- Phil’s voice is subdued, melancholic, almost. 

“I don’t really know myself, to be honest. All I know is that I really loved them. A lot”. 

Phil hums in acknowledgment. 

“They loved me a lot too, I’m pretty sure”,- Wilbur sounds sad. Techno feels bubbling resentment coiling at the top of his chest. 

A startled sound only alerts him on an emotional level. Outwardly, he’s still ignoring everything the world has to throw at him, resisting the urge to curl in tighter on himself. 

“Oh my god, Techno, I’m so sorry-”- the sudden apology feels like a hit to the gut- “-I didn’t mean to- fuck, I mean, what I did was horrible- I’m just, I’m sorry okay?”

This time, he doesn’t resist the urge to curl. He refuses to think about the apology right now, getting up and walking to his sleeping matt instead, not sparing a glance at his torturers. 

Techno doesn’t fall asleep easily that night. 

**. . . . . . . .**

He wakes up from a nightmare. 

The sky is still a dull, grey-ish blue when he squints his eyes open, disgust settling against his skin like a blanket of snow. With the nightmare being as vivid as it was, tied to his sleeping matt no less, the first thing he does is try to move. It doesn’t work. For a split second, a familiar smiling face hovers over him.

Adrenaline shooting through his system is apparently enough to shake off the spell, so he ends up shooting up like a bowstring snapping. His breathing is ragged and hoarse. 

The nightmare being what it was, with who it was, the first thing Techno does upon getting to his feet is check on Wilbur and Phil. Both are sleeping like the dead, so, to have something to do, he starts making breakfast for himself. All his actions, from starting up a small fire to cracking eggs he found yesterday to holding up a pan feel both effortlessly mechanical and as difficult as dragging boulders up a hill. 

By the time he’s done, there’s still no sign of the sun but a slight change of lighting. By the time he’s done eating, slow and methodical, the sky is bright and decolored, as though it hadn’t pained itself yet. 

Throughout his whole breakfast, Techno is painfully aware of the chocker. It sits against his throat, making itself known with every bite he takes, every bit he swallows, rubbing against irritated skin like a reminder of yesterday’s pain. 

With no better way to distract himself, he decides to go down to the river to do dishes. Streaks of blood either side of him as he walks remind him of yesterday and he bitterly reflects on thinking back to his circus times as ‘easier’. 

He reaches the water, light tug of the collar reminding him he’s almost at twenty blocks. Settling down, he sets the dishes next to himself, starting to clean. 

When he gets back to camp, they’re still asleep. Not ready to be idle yet, Techno takes both his and Phil’s knives and a grinding stone, and settles behind the closest thickest tree he can find. 

Lost in the motion of sharpening, he’s a bit surprised when he hears first signs of life from camp. He freezes. He can get in so much trouble for handling knives after yesterday- 

Sitting as quietly as he can, Techno listens in to the rustling and groaning coming from behind him. 

“Oh. There’s a fire”. 

To make matters infinitely worse, it’s Wilbur. Groggy and hangover, he’s likely to be irrational and irritable, so even if he wouldn’t normally give Techno any repercussions for doing something beneficial for the group for once there’s a danger of it happening now. 

So far though, he doesn’t seem to care about any of that, at least if the noises of him eating something juicy, maybe fruit, are anything to go by. Wilbur proceeds to rustle through stuff, still preoccupied, and Techno relaxes against the back of the tree. He’s so tired, it could rival that one time he stayed up for four days doing nothing but digging potatoes, except this time it’s more prominent. 

**. . . . . . . .**

Techno doesn’t end up being punished in any way for hoarding knives. 

He also doesn’t end up being bossed around at all. There’s not a thing either Wilbur or Phil tell him to do all day, walking on eggshells and never insisting on dialogue instead. Even when he refuses to help them with food, a thing he’s most used to getting ignored, they just go on to making their own and set him a plate when they’re done. It’s nowhere near as good as the cooking he directs, but it’s better than what he had the displeasure of trying on his first morning with them. 

Not getting bothered by them is both a blessing and a curse, mostly because he detests the pitiful expressions they throw his way. Especially Wilbur, who looks like a kicked dog. 

Their annoying behavior continues the next day, though less weird and downcast than before. When he refuses to carry the backpack he’s been entrusted with, Wilbur picks it up with a simple ‘that’s fair’. 

The pattern doesn’t break the next day, either, even though he still doesn’t talk to them until he absolutely has to or help around camp in any way. He agrees to carry the backpack because he’s starting to feel bad. Of course, he could’ve just ignored the stupid feeling, but he’s afraid the guilt will snowball into forgiveness if he’s not careful enough, so small scale compliance with it seems like a worthy alternative.

The third day brings no changes either, though Phil and Wil start to joke around with each other in a way similar to how they normally do. Techno would resent their return to relative normality, but he’s getting sick of the depressed, shameful overcast they’ve been enjoying so he doesn’t fret. 

On the fourth day, he speaks without necessity for the first time since the lap incident. It’s prompted by Phil doing everything wrong, which probably says more about Techno than it does anything else: “Wow Philza, even after I teach you how to cut tomatoes? You’re bad”. 

Phil’s surprise doesn’t linger, as he reacts by gesturing at the forest fruit soaking the entire board and even a bit of his clothes: “Those were tomatoes. This is a monstrosity”. 

“It’s literally the same principle, how weak can your kitchen game be?”

All he gets in response is a huff, Phil dutifully trying to apply his tomato skills to the fruit Techno never learned the name of. Wilbur looks like he wants to add something, but thinks better of it, coming back to carving meat. 

The conversation dies, bringing with it a little bit of awkwardness that has lingered since the lap incident. That day, Techno gets invited in on Phil’s and Wilbur’s dinner dialogue and for the first time since the incident, he brings more than a level glare to the table. 

He adds some passive-aggressive jokes instead-


	3. In which there's a shopkeep who makes the opposite of a mistake, but it still has the same energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth reason to kill worddumb anyone? I ended this chapter on a cliffhanger   
> yes I am just asking for it at this point   
> Either way, chapter relevant tws: graphic descriptions of pain, some serious, though well-deserved slappage, crowded spaces and stealing bird eggs (mentioned)

Techno has been in captivity for about thirty days since the lap incident, so thirty-five overall. He’s not even tired of it anymore, tendrils of affection for Phil’s easy-going, friendly nature, and Wilbur’s straight-faced humor wrapping around his mind like a plague. No matter how much he reminds himself it’s Stockholm syndrome playing up, no matter how easy it is to blame them for his internal turmoil when staring at the stars before sleep, all of it dissipates into meaningless nothing when they smile at him in the morning. 

Keeping his actions regarding them zeroed in on compulsive guilt and down to insults didn’t end up doing him much good. At first, it seemed like having all his interactions with his captors be based on negative emotions is a good idea, but he failed to take into account just how infuriatingly good at weaseling his way around venom Phil is, and later, when Wil started biting back to his remarks again, how similar of a sense of humor they shared. 

The fact both of them now keep at least a block away from him no matter the occasion plays a part in that, too. At first, it’s a blessing he’s all too thankful for, then, it turns into something sinister. 

Touch starvation. 

Techno beats himself over the head for the way his heart pings with longing whenever Phil and Wil get into a mock fight, share an aggressive hug, play a clapping game when bored, or play out ridiculous scenes. He’d always liked touching, even if in the second half of his life it’s restricted to those he trusts and being instigated by him. When he reaches to shove Phil, who’s doing everything wrong again, it comes as no surprise for him. 

Even if it’s not surprising, it’s still the leading cause for his currently bloating self-loathing. Him and his stupid body, wanting  _ love  _ and  _ care  _ like some kind of idiot; to combat it at least a bit, he takes to hugging himself whenever he’s sure they’re not looking and sneakily hugging himself (crossing his arms) whenever they are. 

By far, the worst part of his struggles is the fact these stupid idiots didn’t even plan any of the sufferings he self-imposes on himself with their help. Techno wants to rip and tear, but alas, he is confined to beating his pillow vigorously before bed. 

Either way, their journey along the river bed continues, meandering and overall rather uneventful. They come across villages, buy some stuff and leave soon after Techno inevitably embarrasses them on purpose, climb trees for fruit, bird eggs, and, in Techno’s case, dropping down and scaring the others shitless, take turns abusing the strings on Wilbur’s ‘guitar’ and overall make their own fun throughout it. 

When they reach a rather large town, which Wilbur has a ‘weirdly intense’ feeling about, Techno can just tell they’re all equally excited to see what kind of bullshit he comes up with this time. If he knew the way this captivity would turn out for him, he would’ve taken the time to learn some magic when he had the chance. 

Last time, he pretended to be poisoned by an apple Wil passed him(we just like to make each other’s lives hell, he’s playing dead to spite us I  _ swear _ ), and, because he never does anything by halves, had to be carried out of town piggy-back style until Phil got sick of the weight and threatened to drag him by the foot. Well, until he got dragged by the foot for about five blocks, to be precise. 

It may or may not have been a part of his ‘get touchies fast’ scheme, but nobody needed to know. 

Walking down the main street of the town, Techno needs to pay all of his attention to not getting lost in the crowd since Phil is too busy holding onto Wilbur’s wrist for dear life as the man finds another thing to be fascinated by and Wil is too busy being too awed by everything to avoid walking into a lamp post. They’ve visited at least four shops already, even buying a cheap set for a game of shoss, which Wilbur called ‘chess on steroids’, and show no signs of stopping any time soon. 

Despite his best precautions, Techno gets lost somewhere between the household magic items shop and souvenirs. It’s not that big of a deal, cause he can just wait in one place for a bit before getting pulled towards them anyway, but he’s still not happy about being left alone in the middle of a loud, crowded street. He’ll have to jab them about paying better attention to their things, later. 

He barely has to wait for small shocks of magic appearing around his neck, the sensation almost unfamiliar with how rarely he experiences it nowadays. Doesn’t take it long to become uncomfortable, either, and soon enough, it washes over his body completely, bringing back an array of memories he’d really rather not. Without any input from him, his legs start walking in the direction he’s kind of assumed, and there’s nothing he can do but tag along. 

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, but when he ends up by an open storefront with a stout, lusciously mustached shopkeeper hanging out of it spotting the odd duo of an excessively tall man and a small elf is so easy he questions where his eyes were when he lost them. Wilbur, who he’s closer to, looks about ready to jump in excitement as Phil talks calmly to the shopkeep. 

When Techno comes to stand by them, the previously serene expression on their face turns horrified, then shifts to cold determination. Somewhat used to his appearance causing a ruckus, Techno gets ready to withstand whatever the universe throws at him, but then, the shopkeep looks to Wilbur and Phil, pointing at him with their palm: “Is this your slave?” 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for this, even though he was sure it was bound to happen. 

“What? No! This is Techno, Techno’s a friend”,- Wil gestures to him as he speaks, while Phil gets a calculating look in his eyes. Techno just stands. He can get rid of them here and now, give them the punishment they deserve, but he doesn’t want to. It’s infuriating. 

“Ya sure? I’ve seen collars like that before, hell, I’ve sold them, I know how they work. I know the error of my ways now, and I’ll teach it to you, confession or not”. 

Finally able to speak, Techno cuts in: “I knew traveling with you guys would kill my reputation”. Technically, he’s not covering for them, but simply saying what he’s been thinking for a while now. The shopkeep turns to him, the look in their eyes softening to something sad, and oh, he might just die now. He’s lying. He’s lying to a person who knows he might’ve been told to, a person who  _ cares _ , a person who he would jump at just twenty days ago. 

“Why has the collar got your name on it, boy?” 

Techno feels about to cry. He also feels his face lay in a neutral line between him and the world. Next to him, Wilbur continues to lie, as well, with just as straight a face as he has. 

“Yeah, he’s got questionable fashion choices”. 

“If it’s a fashion choice, surely I can read the name out loud?” 

Fuck. The phantom of the feeling Techno gets whenever the collar is in motion weighs too much, and under that weight, the thing he’s most scared of is giving it away. Through his teeth, but in practice with a shrug, he says ‘go ahead’. The words don’t quite feel like they belong to him. 

He’s regarded with another sad look. “Technoblade-”- the words are unfamiliar on the stranger’s lips, but the stillness they envoke is anything but- “-bow”. 

Shopkeep’s voice carries pain. Techno manages to grind out ‘we’re leaving’ before grabbing Wilbur’s wrist and storming off. 

He ducks into the first alleyway he sees, yanking Wilbur in, and covers his mouth with both his hands. As his body bends into a right angle, he can’t keep it in anymore. He screams into his hands, the noise existing for a split second before Wil mutes it, and being unable to hear the confirmation of his pain alongside the inability to relive any tension his muscles hold brings another wave of white-hot sparks over his vision. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers stillness. Then, without any warning, his body drops to its knees and then to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The pain, as blinding as it is, only exists for a few seconds longer before giving way to a burnt feeling on his neck and soreness in every cell of his body. 

He can hear again, his own broken sobs and heartbeat entering his senses before the hum of the streets. Not looking up from the cracks in the stone, he gets back to his feet. Below him, Wilbur sits with the most broken expression ever, which quickly turns apologetic when he notices Techno staring. Phil walks over to them, stopping next to Wil: “We’re gonna take that off today. Should’ve done that thirty days earlier. Sorry”. His eyes are on Techno all through his words, most of which Techno has trouble understanding. As soon as he’s done, though, they go downcast, clearly full of guilt for what had happened. Good. 

“Techno, I…-”- whatever Wilbur wants to say, he thinks better of it, straightening to his knees and starting to get up- “-You don’t have any orders anymore”. 

Techno walks up to the two of them. They brace, Wilbur steeling still on one knee. They’re very right to do so, as he slaps both so hard it leaves claw marks on their faces. Neither says a word about it. 

Circling around them, Techno stops in the entrance to the alleyway and turns to look: “We’re ranting a room”. They follow, just as wordless as they were taking a hit. The rest of the way to an inn at the edge of the town, he doesn’t look up from the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, not to brag but I got like, a few comments on this thing from multiple people and like, I'm offended? You come into my house, read my fic, and then you spit into my face by showing off your 'commenting without an account' dark magic skills? Disgusting   
> There's also an Anon, whom I Detest, because How dare You imply my writing is Shameful to be known for reading? (jk i love all of you please forgive my dumb sense of humor ily)


	4. In which everyone makes bad decisions, which are not mistakes, so :/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey   
> I took longer to write this and I also shot logic five times in the chest because I didn't want it to be angst! Actions having consequences? Bullshit concept, get out of my house and read about Techno and Wilbur having a pillow fight   
> Chapter relevant tws: idk it's kinda cringe, inability to lie, the fuken... bitch collar changing hosts, getting drunk, galactic and the way it takes Wilbur more time to get an object he just bought out of his backpack than it takes Techno to light multiple candles, close a window shutter and move a bed  
> Wow, I really made that sound like a beginnings to a mediocre r*mance p*rn, your reasons to kill worddumb are piling up

When they get to the inn, it turns out even a place that cheap is too expensive for them. They end up having to rent a single room with two beds, which, to establish some sense of normality, Techno comments on: “I thought I’d get at least something out of this, but y’all are broke”. 

All he gets in return is an awkward laugh from Wilbur and an almost judgemental look from Phil, but the viscous tension surrounding them alleviates a bit, so he counts it as a win. 

The room they get is cozy, if small, especially against Wilbur who could probably lay across, touch both walls and still have to bend a little. Phil walks to sit in between the two beds as soon as he enters, while Techno only moves out of the way to let both him and Wilbur in. 

Bending about in half to enter the room, Wil knocks lightly on the wooden ceiling, brows knitted together as he studies the floor before looking at Techno with a carefully neutral face: “I’m starting to think you decided to get a room as a means to torture me for my sins”. 

Surprised, Techno almost barks a laugh. Now he knows what it’s like to be on the other end of his careless disregard for situational apropriaty. “Oh, no, my elaborate revenge plan has been discovered”. 

On the floor, Phil digs through his backpack with a relieved, yet pained expression. Techno can honestly relate. Disregarded as harmless after what Techno guesses is his best effort to get yelled at, Wilbur goes to sit by Phil with a near-identical expression and starts digging through his backpack, as well. It looks like a surreal painting on the subject of everything being the same, the mix of sharp and soft shadows sun rays coming from the one window create underlying the whole thing beautifully. The scene  _ is _ a form of art, as far as Techno is concerned. 

Kind of concerned with how well these idiots can find whatever they need in the darkness of the room, he, ever so considerately, lights all the candles with provided lighters. To make the lighting a bit more even, and maybe to muffle the outside ruckus a bit, he also shuts the window shutter. 

Not done with the quality of life improvements, Techno starts pulling the bed opposite to Phil and Wil away from them to make more space. Without looking, Wilbur extends one leg and shoves it more successfully than Techno ever could. It’s uneven now, and he’s trapped between it and the wall, so he does the only logical thing: climbs onto the bed and berates Wilbur: “Aand you have to push the other end of the bed now. Genius”. 

He only gets hair flipped his way with a throw of a head, Wilbur pushing the rest of the bed with one hand, the other still digging in the depth of his backpack. The way he barely has to strain for that is offensive. 

Looking at him and Phil from his elevated position, Techno feels kinda left out. In one fluid motion, he slides down the bed and starts looking through his backpack, as well. Not for anything in particular, just because he can. 

The air in the room is orange with candlelight and heavy with awkwardness when, in the epitome of comedic timing, both Phil and Wil get out what they were looking for at once. It’s an unassuming, tiny wooden box and shoss respectively, the former of which probably has to do with taking off the collar Techno has grown annoyingly used to. 

Still, all of his attention diverts to Phil, following closely with his eyes as the elf shoves away his backpack and opens the rectangular box with great care, getting out a cocoon of cloth he delicately unravels to reveal a sowing needle. Phil gently sets the cloth on the floor, the needle in the middle of it. The cloth has a pattern on it, one Techno recognizes as a bunch of galactic letters interwoven together to convey something along the lines of ‘bind’; he’s not sure, cause he never paid attention to his tutor. 

With a sure hand, Phil starts to trace the word with the needle. The lines he follows light up with magic, surprisingly bright considering normally Techno is almost blind to it, revealing another word that approximates to ‘spirit’, or ‘flesh’, or both, considering how much of a mess galactic is. When the entire pattern is alight, Phil sets the needle back into the middle and opens his mouth. 

Techno regrets everything. The few words he does understand amount to just enough to give him a headache, and the words he doesn’t split his head in half. In addition to magic being a total bitch to those who don’t practice it, his collar is lighting up as well, familiar small shocks feeling like lightning against his burnt skin. 

Phil’s done before he knows it, and when Techno looks up to Wilbur, he’s happy to see he’s not the only one cringing from pain. So, his abilities  _ aren’t  _ proper magic! Techno knew it. 

“All done”,- Phil says, at the same time as Techno’s ‘I’ve never regretted missing magic class so much ever in my entire life’. 

“Could you tilt your chin up a little?”- unbothered by the interruption, Phil is the epitome of patience. Techno complies without a word. Phil leans forward, using his free hand to keep Techno’s chin where it is, and brings the needle to the collar. 

In one swift motion, he crosses out the name. The collar gives one last pulse of magic before sliding off Techno’s neck like a weightless ribbon. It’s both thinner and much longer than Techno anticipated, looking like an innocent, black leather strap in his lap. Both Wilbur and Phil look horrified for a second before Wil wordlessly reaches into his backpack and passes him a regen potion. 

He doesn’t get to ponder on the symbolism of a powerful, slightly illegal artifact that burnt his neck looking like a leftover from someone’s crafting project for long, as Wil reaches out with a deliberately slow hand and takes it from him.

Even before he looks up from studying the ribbon that looks long even in his fuck-off hands, Techno can tell what he’s going to say. As a polite person, he lets him say it anyways. 

“Hey Techno…”- Wil looks up from the ribbon, voice as careful as it was making a joke- “I know this is a bad idea, and will mostly serve to make me feel better, but if you want to...”- he got a lot less confident with his words all of a sudden, coming to a stop for a second and bracing himself. Now, Techno isn’t saying anything just to see him fumble with his words, feeling a smirk grow on his face. He might’ve felt bad, but Phil is looking at Wilbur attentively with the needle still in hand and a similar expression on his face, so Techno skips the guilt. As Wil himself once said, they like to make each other’s lives hell. 

Wilbur inhales, clasping his arms around the ribbon and bringing them to his face: “You can- I wouldn’t mind wearing it”. 

Techno blinks at him. “Yeah, sure. Hey Phil, does the needle still work?” 

Slight surprise appears on Wilbur’s face, only to give way to a blank expression: “Honestly, I don’t know why I expected you to hesitate”. 

“You offered”. 

“I know I offered-”- Wil doesn’t seem at all bothered by Phil taking hold of one of his hands after a simple ‘may I?’ and pricking one of his fingers, which made a faintly glowing thread appear out of its eye before flickering and dimming- “-but I didn’t expect you to be such a bitch about it”. 

“Okay, but let’s be honest: whenever am I not? That’s on you”.

The conversation dies with an unimpressed look from Wilbur, so Techno goes back to watching what Phil is doing. His actions are mesmerizing, letters of Wilbur’s name appearing on the ribbon as he embroiders without a thread. 

Despite the beauty of Phil’s handy-work (‘So you can embroider words in cursive but you can’t cut a tomato?’ ‘Shut up’), Techno gets bored of it rather quickly and swaps to watching Wilbur trying to play out how a match of shoss would go with himself. Quiet, frustrated muttering becomes full-on defensive half-shouts when Techno goes to ‘help’ (bother Wil for not knowing how to play a game he couldn’t have possibly learned how to play), which is fun as in itself, but then Wilbur decides to teach him how to play ‘chess’, and the tables turn pretty quickly. He finds himself humming indignantly and asking for explanations as often as Wil, while his teacher moves newly marked shoss pieces in frankly ridiculous ways on the board.

They’re not done with the match but Techno is almost done understanding the rules when Phil alerts them. 

“I’m done, so could you bend down a little, please?” 

Wil stares at him. 

“You could literally just get up”. 

“Well, I don’t want to”. 

Wil stares at him some more. Phil stares back. Techno looks at both of them, feeling like a child whose parents are trying not to fight in front of him. Finally, Wil yields: “Okay, honey...” 

The face he makes must be in referencing something, as there’s no rational reason to pull all his facial features down, at least not one Techno can see. 

He leans down almost into Phil’s lap, which Phil makes a fake disgusted expression at. Hooking the collar around Wilbur’s neck, he goes to pull it against his skin. Techno can’t help but gloat a little when Wil gives a full-body shudder and pushes his head into Phil’s leg as the ribbon gathers itself into a seamless, skin-tight collar. 

“I’m so happy I dodged this”,- Phil says, petting Wil’s hair comfortingly- “-Now, Wilbur Soot, never call me ‘honey’ again. I have an allergy”. 

At this point unsurprisingly, Wil straightens up with a smile: “So all other pet names are fair game?” 

“...Yes”. 

“Oh fuck yeah!” His tone is aggressive, which he accentuates by curling his fists and squaring his body in a frankly awful defensive stance. 

“You can call me honey if you want, I don’t mind that particular condiment”. 

“This is the best day of my life”. 

**. . . . . . . .**

After that questionable remark, they settle to play shoss like it’s a normal evening and they’re normal friends and not people stuck together due to unfavorable circumstances who can’t back out now. Techno is a bit upset they aren’t playing chess, but Wilbur says it’s a two-player game, so he deals. 

They play two games since Wilbur lost the first (‘Did you just seriously tell me to place my sho on the worst possible square?’ ‘Yes, yes I did. By the way, remember that one time you told me to say the food was delicious even though it sucked?’) and demanded a rematch. By the time Techno wins again, now legitimately, they’re all a little exhausted from the amount of brain activity such a deceptively easy game requires, so Wil gets out a bottle of vine like he hadn’t learned a single lesson from the last time. 

But surely, tonight will be different, Techno thinks as he takes a sip big enough to prove he hadn’t learned a single lesson in his entire life. 

They get drunk very fast, suspiciously so, and when Techno mentions it, Phil rips off a small gliff of the bottle. “So, we were drinking a magic-infused vine this whole time?-”- he points at Wilbur- “Won’t it mess with this thing?” 

“You’re already calling me a thing? I’ve worn this for like what, an hour? I’m hurt, Techno”. 

“Shut up, you know exactly what I mean”.

Phil studies the gliff with squinted eyes, then turns to Wilbur, then to Techno: “No, no it won’t, don’t worry”. 

“Oh, good”. 

Leaning against the bed and closing his eyes, Techno relaxes. Today was hectic, and the sheer stupidity of his decisions leading up to this moment makes him feel unworthy of the title of a great strategist. Somewhere in the background, Phil is explaining to a laughing Wilbur that yes, magic can expire, but you can take precautions to make that happen so slowly it becomes essentially eternal and some kinds of magic are more durable than others, yes the collar is high-quality enough to last centuries and no, he probably couldn’t dispel that if he tried. Their loud discussion is weirdly soothing until it suddenly involves Techno. 

“By the way Techno… Are you gonna leave now that you’re not bound to us by the collar?” 

Wilbur makes a show out of not sounding sad as he speaks. Even if Techno wanted to leave before, he’d have a hard time saying that to the face that had no business being so pouty over its own vulnerability: “Nah, you guys aren’t getting rid of me until I die now. Look at this shit-”- he points at the scar gracing his neck- “-and tell me this doesn’t scream bound for life to you”. 

His words make both of his conversation partners glow and dull at the same time. He snorts at their expressions. 

Suddenly, Phil jumps a little. Then, scrambles to his feet and looks down at Wilbur: “Hey, can you please move this bed to the wall for me?”

Looking up at him in that drunk way of his, Wilbur shrugs, then pushes the bed with his back all the way until he can’t, because there’s a wall in the way. He proceeds to flow down to the floor, not breaking eye contact as his hands fall on top of his head: “God, I like being big like this”. 

“Yeah, you’re a big boy, now move to the middle of the room”. 

Recognition flashes through Techno like a bolt of lightning: “You’re gonna do magic aren’t you”. 

“Yes-”- Techno clasps his hands behind his back and bows so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash- “Please, Philza, please for the love of gods don’t make us listen to your weird evil language, please I’ll do anything-”-“Then don’t listen”.

He looks up, hands still in the begging position. “Wow, that was cold”. 

“Hey, you have perfect means of not listening right-”- Phil points both his hands at Wil- “-here!” 

Wilbur, who’s already in the middle of the room, makes a sad face: “Why does everyone treat me like a tool for their means?” 

Grabbing his hand and looking into his eyes, Techno answers: “Please shut up and save us both from dying”. 

Whatever Phil’s response to his words is, he doesn’t hear it, but Wilbur laughs before putting the spell on himself as well. It really doesn’t mean much, since drunk Wilbur will laugh at anything, so he ignores it in favor of looking into Wil’s eyes with as much desperate intensity as he could muster. The staring gets boring fast and turns into a game of chicken. Out of the corner of his eye, Techno sees Phil laying on his stomach, moving along the floor like a double-tailed worm, which makes the game exponentially more difficult. 

Wilbur breaks first, though it’s a close call, splitting his attention to Phil’s focused crawling. Too lost in drawing on the floor with his finger, he doesn’t notice their staring, following his every move with their heads like dedicated magic turrets. He’s moving about, sometimes on the ground to reach under the beds, sometimes squatting and staring down seriously, sometimes actually getting up and looking over their heads to check the other side of the circle, and sometimes drawing bigger shapes connecting points on different parts of whatever sigil he’s busy with. 

Eventually, he sits down next to Wilbur and draws one last letter outside of the circle. It lights up brightly even to Techno, after which Phil pokes Wil to remove the muting spell. 

As Wil puts both his hands on Techno’s ears, which he technically doesn’t have to do, it finally occurs that they didn’t even think to question what the fuck kinda spell Phil was going for. 

“Wait, what even is this thing?” 

Phil smiles at him, the expression as bastardly as that one time he helped Techno set the MC organizer on fire. 

“It’s zone of truth”. 

“What-”-The next thing Techno knows, he’s  _ this close _ to Phil’s face, holding him by the robe- “-why?!” 

“Cause I thought it’d be funny, and also we need to get to know each other if we’re gonna be stuck together until we die. By the way, we each have to answer fifteen questions to be able to leave and I’m two down already, so if you could continue?..” 

“...I so wish I could say I hate you right now”. 

In the background, Wilbur dies of laughter. For that sin, he gets Techno’s attention on him: “You know what, this is great, actually. I always wanted to know what in the world was going through your heads when you decided to just immediately kidnap me, no questions asked, no hesitation,-” 

“I got a feeling you wouldn’t agree to come around and may have had a lapse in judgment”. 

They both look at Phil. He shrugs: “I dunno, I just went along cause I thought it could be fun”. 

Techno blinks at him. “Is there anything in your life you put more thought in then ‘oh that’d be fun’?” 

“Yeah, multiple things actually, but the most prominent is, I learned magic cause I thought, or well, knew I’d die if I didn’t. Not sure if it counts, though”,- Phil looks down, as though to look away from a memory, then looks back up with the bastard expression firmly back in place- “Either way, mister ‘I judge your choices’, what is the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

It’s Techno’s turn to look down. “Killed four innocent people, left three orphans in my wake. I guess you could call that a lapse of judgment as well”. 

Leaning forward on his hands, Wilbur’s expression is so casual it feels decisively out of place: “Wow, you guys are angsty. The worst thing I’ve done to date I’ve done while drunk”. 

Phil manages to shoot that down before Techno can: “You’ve only been here for five moons, I bet you’d have more if you were native”. 

Wilbur looks like he wants to say something, but this time, Techno beats him to it: “Yeah, and I bet you weren’t the purest person back in your world”. 

“I dunno, I feel like I was fairly normal”. 

“I feel like that says more about your world than you”. 

They proceed to bicker, Phil getting involved somewhere along the way, any and all seriousness of being trapped in a circle where you can’t lie washing away with a tide of vine breath. Not even Wilbur getting an answer to ‘God, how did you manage to resist this thing for so long?’ after failing to delay slapping himself makes it somber or serious again, maybe because Techno is determined to not let it. 

When the barrier falls, they all notice, since Wilbur falls back with its support gone. Being such a large presence, he takes both Phil and Techno with him, one because the elf’s basically sitting in his lap and the other because he said potatoes weren’t the superior vegetable. It’s not so bad, Wil shielding them from the floor despite in no way trying to, so Techno doesn’t try to leave yet. 

Laying on top of Wilbur is warm, Phil’s hand somehow ending up in his is soft, a giant palm on his hair is comforting. Still, even through the warm and bubbly haze, he rolls off and opens his eyes. The ceiling doesn’t blink back at him, which is rude, but reassuring. 

**. . . . . . . .**

By the power of pure chance, Techno wakes up in a bed in the morning. Well, he assumes it’s morning anyway; his brain is heavy with a magically amplified hangover and the shutter is still closed. Partially on top of him is Phil, still snoozing away, which he can easily tell even in the blissful darkness of the room on the account of the arm laying across his stomach not weighing a ton, but just a dozen kilograms. 

Removing it with a bit of difficulty and pushing himself up, Techno studies the room. Under the darkest wall, Wilbur is curled up on a bed that looks like a child’s compared to his size, facing away from them and breathing too awake. 

Quietly as to not wake Phil up, Techno whisper-screams to get his attention: “Psst. Psst hey. Hey, dude”. 

Wilbur turns his head to him, face disgusted: “What”. 

Not entirely sure what he was going to say, Techno goes for the first thing that comes to mind: “You smell”. It’s the stupidest, most immature thing, and it gets the stupidest, immature reaction; Wilbur blinks intelligently, grabs his pillow, and, without turning over or regard for sleeping Phil, throws it at Techno. His aim is still the freakiest thing, the pillow hitting Techno in the face. 

Phil stirs and grumbles when the pillow falls on him, but doesn’t wake up. Both Techno’s and Wil’s eyes are on him through the ordeal, locking when they’re sure he’s still dead asleep. Now fueled by vengeance, Techno carefully removes himself from underneath Phil’s leg and off the bed, walking over to the unmoving heap of Wilbur with the pillow in hand. At his destination, he grabs the pillow with both hands and shoves it against Wilbur’s face: “Do that again and get a restraining order”. 

Wilbur finally succeeds at tearing the pillow away, blinking up at him condemningly: “No”. 

“What ‘no’?”

Wilbur grabs the blanket balled up next to his stomach, spreads it out and pulls it over Techno’s head. 

“No”. 

And thus, their glorious battle of the bedside begins. At first, Wilbur wins with the sheer advantage his size provides, but Techno manages to snake out from underneath the blanket Wil pins him with and mount the man, putting the pillow over his face again. He even manages to hold on when Wil raises to sit upright, though as soon as he starts tipping backward Techno scrams to his front, trying to maintain the pillow on his face. 

It creates an opening for Wilbur, who uses the fact both Techno’s hands are on his face to grab them without much of a struggle. With his other hand, he pushes Techno down again. The way his spread fingers can fit Techno’s neck between them underlines just how uneven their playing field is, making Techno’s chest ping with panic for a split second. 

“Yield, piggy”,- Wil’s face is way too smug for it being a hangover morning. To be fair, Techno is also a bit over-active, but still. 

An idea strikes Techno. 

“Okay, okay. But first, Wilbur Soot?”- Wil’s face is priceless- “Admit your defeat”. 

Wilbur grinds his teeth, somehow managing to resist for a second before blurting out ‘alright, you win, geez!’. He doesn’t remove his hands, though. 

“Now, could you please let me go?” 

“Not before I explain why I’m better than you. You see, out of three times we have competed, you had to cheat to win twice, which means that if we were to ever butt heads on even grounds, I’d win two times out of three. That makes me two-thirds cooler than you. Another reason is-”- “Let me stop you right there. First of all, if we were the same size, I would win every time. Second of all, if you wish to honestly defeat me in shoss, you’ll have to train for a hundred years, you’re bad”. 

“So why’d you tell me to lose that time, huh?”

Techno does his best attempt at a shrug with his hands pinned up: “I wanted to go on that power trip, obviously”.

“You’re a horrible person”. 

“Rude, but true. Now, will you  _ please _ let me go?” 

With a begrudging ‘I’m still better than you’, Wilbur relocates to sit next to him. Techno sits up as well, and they both look at Phil, blinking at them angrily. 

On that day, two men died of a splitting headache. Coming back as spirits, they proceed to serve justice by taking down their murderer with pillows, and all is well in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I kinda wanna write an epilogue cause I have... ideas... ugh   
> I'm probably gonna do it anyway but could you pwetty pwease ask me to so I don't look quite as desperate to get this au out there? Pwetty pwease with sprinkles and a bow on top? I'll pay you with something that isn't money??


	5. In Which Mistakes are Sorta Made, But Like, In a Cute Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FOUND THE UNFINISHED CHAPTER FIVE, BITCHES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh btw a bit of a non-graphic meltdown at the beggining, but it's more hurt-comfort than anything <3 i'm not gonna lie, i loved writing this all with every fiber of my being, maybe i'll even finish it some day

Techno wants to write a letter home, so they don’t leave that morning. He even gets both of his (reformed) captors to write ‘sorry, please don’t kill me if we ever meet’ and sign where he describes his enslavement in an amount of detail uncomfortable even to him. Sending the thing winds up leaving them flat broke, giving them no choice but to return to the forests they’ve come from. 

Well, not before they cross about ten chunks of fields in the scorching sun, but that’s details. 

Under the influence of impending heat stroke, their conversations weave into weird territory rather quickly. In an attempt to combat that, Techno asks Wilbur to put his hands to good use and carry them over his and Phil’s head like umbrellas. Wil declines, obviously, which is when Techno calls in the big spells, aka tells him to jump in place until he changes his mind. 

“You could’ve just told me to make my hands umbrellas”,- Wilbur says, every word broken up by a jump or two. 

“Heh? Where would be the fun in that?” 

“Oh, fuck you”. 

Eventually, he has to let Wilbur free even without repentance as Phil side-steps closer with an elbow at the ready and eyes never leaving the jumping man, and the rest of the way to the forest is spent arguing ethics. It lasts maybe for a bit too long, sinceTechno makes it a point to argue for the ethic-less position without bringing up the other side’s shortcomings for as long as possible. 

The entire day is all fun and games until he’s laying on a mat alone with his thoughts. As soon as silence pools around the camp, one rules them all: why in the world did he save them. Why didn’t he let the shopkeep find out? What kind of a person does supporting essentially slavers make him? How did his actions make the shopkeep feel? 

He doesn’t have a definitive answer to any of it, but he does have a few choice words. Traitor. He’s been enslaved before, he betrayed all he stood for since. Stupid. Not an ounce of thought or planning was put into his actions ever since they put the damned collar on him. Weak, giving in to their charms with little to no resistance, never learned his lesson either in the circus or after Wilbur- after the lap incident, stupid, so very stupid, unable to prevent Stockholm syndrome from taking root in his brain even when it glared him in the face- 

Unfortunately, Techno is the king of allnighters. The gaping, full hollowness of the grey, pre-dawn sky stretches ignorant and cold above him, and all he has in his chest is a knot made out of maggots. 

That day, he doesn’t talk much and almost snaps every time he does. Neither Phil nor Wil are fools, so they understand why. All up until the evening, they don’t pry, invite him into conversations covertly, keep the mood level, and acknowledge without underlining, well enough to say they are the perfect friends. It only makes Techno feel worse, so when Phil gently guides the conversation into feelings territory, he jumps at the chance to vent… Is what he would say if Wilbur and Phil sharing bits of worries didn’t make him feel like a pile of compost. 

Eventually, Wil asks him, straightforward as ever, ‘What’s wrong?’, and who knew a simple question like that could send a man reeling into the deepest corner of his mind. 

Techno knew, he knew for a fact, but it’s fun to pretend. 

He ends up crying his heart out after finally snapping, which feels unfair, especially when Phil hovers close and waits for him to initiate a hug, comforting and soft to Techno’s desperate and guilty. Cuddling up to Phil feels like a betrayal of everything he knows, but it’s so nice and he’s grown to trust the elf so much- 

That night, Techno manages to black out while still being held by Phil. He doesn’t get time to properly ruminate on that the next day, as Wilbur offers him a sandwich as soon as he wakes up, which dictates the rest of it; whenever he sits down, or gets quiet, or has a moment of peace (read- gets enough time to start falling into self-loathing) Phil or Wilbur bother him. It’s annoying, and he snaps at them, and they retort back with quips, and he hates everything about it. By night, he’s too tired and angry to think anything but profanities.    
Nothing really changes the next day, he gets swarmed with attention as much as they swarm each other, Phil orders Wil around so much it’s ought to be intentional, and Techno’s own biting remarks lose a bit of their bite. The pattern continues for a few days, though it’s harder and harder to maintain, especially after he snickers or smiles at something or other the idiots say or do. 

On the third day of back-and-forth, Techno barely has half of the detestation he started with. No matter how much he puts his walls up, no matter how hard he pushes, Phil and Wilbur just have that stupid way of getting under his skin with their jokes, blunt descriptions of exactly what he’s doing and why he has the right to, their dumb ass confidence he’ll stick around despite that and the way they still say they’d understand if he left- 

Techno doesn’t blow up again. He starts a discussion, level and honest, about all the pain they caused him, about all the shit he’s had to go through- he winds up crying in Phil’s arms, again. He winds up excusing their actions out-loud, for them, for himself, he winds up explaining he understands they have shit on their plates too and he hates them even more for that, he winds up having a second meltdown in five days and all that just because he didn’t give them in.    
They talk back this time. Clarify where he’s wrong with their motives, share their thoughts on the whole thing, they both cry too, Wilbur when he mentions his past life and Phil seemingly just because, though the coherent part of Techno’s brain remarks it’s of empathy and memories. It’s both easier and harder, like that, but at least he mostly just feels embarrassed the next morning. 

**. . . . . . . .**

Techno wants the record to say, he hates how quickly things go back to normal after that. Neither Phil, Wilbur nor him act as though maneuvering around broken glass, their jokes, mock fights, and stupid arguments staying as brash as ever, their weird relationship stronger than ever, and the way Techno wants to slap them coming back to mostly fond. The biggest difference to a dozen ago is the fact he’s free and the amount of galactic Phil throws around, Wil being the exact same doof he was since day one. It makes his skin crawl, if only at night, alone with his thoughts and dreading nightmares. 

When it comes to it, he doesn’t even flinch at Wilbur’s careless touches anymore. It feels like betrayal. 

Slowly but surely, Techno learns to block out the thoughts swarming him whenever he’s alone in his head again. Easier every time he does it, it raises questions as to just what he could forgive and forget; even though, he reminds himself, he doesn’t forgive or forget any of his captors’ abuse. He doesn’t, and the fact he forces out any and all reminders of it in favor of admiring the way fluffy white clouds look through the almost golden with sunlight foliage is no evidence he does. None at all. 

Because looking up at the sky while walking is never a good idea, Techno walks chest first straight into Phil’s shoulder. The apology ready to jump off his tongue gets cut off with a cartoonish shove, which, after a spare moment of deliberation, he returns. Phil’s next shove is much stronger, sending him stumbling into the grass lining the trail and attracting Wilbur’s attention, who, upon assessing the situation, starts chanting ‘fight, fight, fight!’ over and over again, pumping his fists and smiling a vicious smile. Determined to be better than that, Techno thrusts Phil into Wilbur’s stomach and takes off in a sprint. 

Hearing the ground behind him thunder with rapidly quickening steps and Wilbur’s raising voice awakens every hidden pray instinct Techno’s body has in store. As the road inclining will make his running harder, he shrugs his backpack off, flinching at its thud. Seconds later, he hears Phil jump over it. 

His boots don’t have the best purchase with the dusty trail, so he almost slips on the steepening hill. Curling his toes in a desperate attempt to grab the ground, he doubles down, the unbearably slow flashing of trees in his peripheral urging him well past his limits. Phil’s steps grow louder and closer in his ears. In an attempt to lose him, Techno swerves into the forest. 

He grabs onto the bark of one of the trees, turning himself around. Jumps over a bush. Leaps out of the timber. Barely breathing as he runs, reaches all the way back to where Wilbur is laughing his ass off, grabbing onto the man’s wrist and spinning himself to stand behind him so rapidly he almost face plants the guitar strapped to the back of the man’s backpack. 

As he peeks out from behind Wilbur to see Phil brake to a stop, sliding down the hill a little, a loud ‘Wilbur Soot!’ pierces the air. Under his hand, Wil’s wrist turns rigid. 

“Restrain Technoblade!” 

Unclenching Wilbur’s hand as though it burnt, Techno turns to run. Just below his armpit, his arm is gripped. Wilbur yanks him back hard enough to make him fall into his hold, grabbing his other arm, relocating his grip to Techno’s forearms and raising them high enough where Techno almost has to stand on his tippy-toes. Out of pure spite and the weight pulling at the bottom of his stomach, he bangs his head on the plush below Wilbur’s ribs, heels his shin, and groans like he’s about to die of frustration. 

“Hey, I’m as much of a victim of this as you are, you little gremlin! Be a bit more gentle, why don’t you?” To accentuate his innocence, Wilbur dangles him back and forth. Techno heels him once more. 

A few seconds of uneventful swaying go by before Phil finally makes his way to them, walking around and looking up to Techno, hands on his hips: “So, do you give up?” 

In place of an answer, Techno swings his leg as high as it would go and kicks Phil on the shoulder. 

“Woah- I see how it is”,- Phil straightens back up, mischief in his eyes. All it can mean is bad things, and bad things it brings; both of Phil’s hands come to rest against the sides of Techno’s ribs, and before the pang of panic they prompt properly sets into dread, start to rapidly move their fingers. Techno exhales through his nose. “I’m not ticklish”. 

For a short, drawn-out moment, Phil freezes. Then, he pulls his hands away, folding them behind his back and regaining his smile. Apprehension pulls all of Techno’s consciousness into the back of his mind- the air around his head is hurting with the buzz of a galactic word. Something along the lines of ‘happy’, or ‘light’, his brain helpfully supplies as nauseating dizziness spins him to the point of losing vision like a fast roundelay with a friend, the ridiculous big hands on his forearms tightening and grounding him back into the moment. 

With a couple of intense blinks, the world at Techno’s feet comes into focus, and he realises he’s closer to the ground, as well as hanging completely limp. He almost tries to stand back up, a mirthful smile tugging at his lips, but Phil’s sunny-bright ‘well, both of your reaction’s were concerning’ finally registers in hiz fuzzy, softened mind, dawning a realisation; that, just now, was magic. And that magic manipulated his mood. Severely. 

As the thought dissipates into meaningless lightness in his chest, Techno’s decision to be a bastard crystalizes into pure determination. He remains limp in Wilbur’s grasp. 

A hand comes to wave in front of his face, Phil leaning to look him in the eye: “Are you okay, man?”- his voice is still jovial and light, with barely a hint of concern, unrivaled even by Wilbur rhythmically swinging him back-and-forth in its playfulness. Instead of answering, Techno gives two small laughs. 

“Order dismissed, by the way”,- inclining backwards as he speaks with arms akimbo, Phil doesn’t seem concerned with his genius cross breed of comedic timing and causing concern. He doesn’t get to ponder, Wilbur shaking him roughly once before bending to see his face. 

“Ugh, he’s definitely fucking with us, look at that bastardly smile!”- then, he lifts Techno up so high his legs no longer brush the ground, and fucking throws him. At Phil, but still. 

To Phil’s credit, he only huffs under the weight, otherwise holding hysterically giggling Techno up almost in a hug. Subtly leaning into the touch while still not supporting his own weight in any way is apparently not subtle enough, as Phil pulls him closer, arms going under his shoulder blades: “You think so? Okay, man, I trust your judgment. Still, you didn’t have to  _ throw _ him at me”. 

“I didn’t have to,”- he ‘mmm’s, before exhaling jovially- “but I wanted to”. 

At his words, Phil only leans back a bit, so Techno decides to take justice upon himself: “And what if I,”- snaking his arms underneath Phil’s ribcage and squatting a little, he hoists the elf up with zero resistance- “throw Philza at you? Would you like that?” 

“As a matter of fact, I would, and you know it”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst. hey pssst. Kamincik#1719 . it's my discord. it's some strong stuff. so maybe check it out, free trial of talking to me why not- and i totally don't care if you do!! at all!!! it's not like i like you for reading this whole thing or anything

**Author's Note:**

> *waving leaflets* Permission to kill worddumb! Permission to kill worddumb everyone, 200% sale! Two for the small price of nothing! And yeah you don't get the third if you wanna use your god given right to kill worddumb a third time you'll have to pay a small price of one dollar and a corn chip


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